


Prague, 10:42 PM

by TrulyCertain



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-04-22 18:37:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14314728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyCertain/pseuds/TrulyCertain
Summary: It's just a drink. One friendly drink, to celebrate the London op and fact that Miller's not dead. That's all.(It's never just a drink.)





	1. Thursday

Something changes after London. Maybe it's Jensen saving his life. Or maybe it's having _sir_ and  _boss_ thrown out of the window and hearing  _Jim_ instead, and finally seeing those eyes. Sure, he's combed over Jensen's file, but that's different. He knew they were augmented, wondered if they'd be a bit off-putting or unnatural in person. (They weren't.) A couple of flat photos don't show you just _how_ green they are, or how pained they can be, how... human. They were entirely  _Adam_ and not very _Agent_ _Jensen_.

Maybe it's knowing that he's got a little over a week left in this job before he tries to pull the pieces of his life back together and passes TF29 on. To someone else who's graying and has a personal life that's a fucking disaster zone, but... not him, for once. And he's tired of avoiding things for the sake of red tape. He's a soldier; he was never made to be a politician. He's been taught that well enough. He doesn't know why he tried.

Whatever it is, he still doesn't know why he finds himself next to Adam's desk after office hours, saying, "We need to talk."

Adam looks up, wariness written all over his face even with the damned shields. It's not like Jim can ask him to take the things off. That would feel too much like crossing a line. "This a disciplinary, sir?"

Shit. "I... No. More of a debrief."

Adam raises an eyebrow. "On or off the record? Sir." An afterthought, with the usual matter-of-fact insubordination. Jim's still not used to it. He has friends in TF29, but Jensen's treated him differently from the start, without the careful whispers in corridors or brown-nosing. 

Jim sighs, and doesn't know why he says, "I think it needs to be off."

Adam waits, and when he doesn't elaborate, says, "Your office?"

Jim thinks it over.

Adam obviously notices the hesitation, and adds, "There aren't that many bars that'll serve augs." His voice is slightly uncertain, like he's not sure he should be hazarding the guess.

It's an interesting thought. "You're a scotch man, aren't you?" The words come out before he can help them.

"I'm guessing that's not in my file." Adam tilts his head, with an air of amused curiosity. "Aria?"

"I don't name my sources."

Adam crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair and turning it to look at him properly. It's informal, and far from the strait-laced agent or wound-tight sarcastic prick Jim spends a lot of time trying to keep in line. Maybe they've both been carrying the world less heavily after taking Marchenko down. "You have any feelings on whiskey, sir?"

Jim suddenly realizes he's not sure where this is going. And that he's about to be too honest. "A lot of positive ones."

"How would you feel about a toast for the road?"

"You don't keep the stuff in your desk drawer, do you?" He knows too much about Adam already. And he looks at the scribbled notes and cereal, the things that would probably have been hastily cleared away if he'd given any warning, and wonders. Adam's personal life seems to be almost as empty as his own.

Adam shakes his head, still watching him with a curiosity that's evident even under the shields and wary blankness.

"And the bars don't serve augs... being seen in the red light district'll probably get me fired." Jim runs a hand down his face and mutters, "Christ." This day has been too long already.

"There's a bottle at my place." Adam sounds surprised by the idea himself. There's a pause you could drive a train through, and then, "...Sir."

Jim blinks.

On the one hand, bad idea. Very bad idea.

On the other: He needs answers. And this is the first drink for the road he's been offered.

"All right. Don't make me regret this."

There's the sliver of a smile on Adam's face as he stands.

Jim has a moment to notice that it's a little odd to see Jensen without the trench and tac gear. Adam's not exactly a man he associates with  _days off_ or _filing_   _paperwork._ The fact he knows it happens doesn't mean he's ever really seen behind the curtain. He's just ended with neatly typed, curt reports on his desk every so often. Or ones from Mac trying to make everything Jensen does a fuckup or an instance of insubordination. The obviousness of Mac putting the boot in sometimes makes him laugh, when it's been a long day and he's running on caffeine and hope. He probably shouldn't admit that. Adam can look after himself, and in the field, he gives as good as he gets.

Adam takes the coat and shrugs into it, loose and easy, like he isn't wearing probably over a grand of custom leather, then looks at Jim expectantly. 

"Lead on," Jim says.

He doesn't know how he ends up taking the train with a long-coated shadow beside him, the all-black clothes seeming even darker under bright carriage lights. Or walking through what's practically an aug ghetto, Adam still quiet and thoughtful aside from the odd nod and muttered greeting at what are probably neighbors. Or... raising an eyebrow at the half-destroyed couch outside what must be Adam's place.

Adam looks over his shoulder while unlocking system after system - paranoid, but in this job, it's justified. "Would it help if I said that wasn't mine?"

"I'm not sure it would."

"The rent's pretty low, though."

"Yeah," Jim says, faintly. "I bet." 

He doesn't know, either, how he ends up on Adam's expensive couch, watching Adam hang up that stupid-expensive trenchcoat and pour out equally expensive whiskey. So that's where what would be the rest of the rent goes.

He thinks Adam put on the lights, or at least asked for them, but they've got to be at something like fifty percent power. It's mostly a few kitchen lights and a lamp on the counter, the low orange light from the street doing most of the work. If these are Jensen's default settings... He must be some kind of oversized bat. It'd explain the coat, at least. And all the gliding.

Outside, it's started to rain. Jim tries not to grimace out of the windows at that.

He realizes a few seconds too late, when he looks back and Adam glances upwards, that the eyeshields have come down. Then Adam looks away again, turns to shove a few things in cupboards. Still strange. Here Adam's all lanky, silent grace, without the stiffness that comes from worrying about professionalism, from putting himself in a box. It's... interesting to watch, even if Jim's done his fair share of covert ops and he should be familiar with this kind of thing. Still different. Maybe it's the augs, or maybe it's just Adam. But it's... more than a little fascinating. He catches himself looking at the trimness of movement, nothing wasted, and then the flex of Adam's shoulders under the sweater, the -

His eyes are heading south. And he shoves those thoughts firmly aside, because they're a bloody mid-life crisis waiting to happen. Neil would never let him hear the end of it. Adam's busy enough not to notice, and besides, Jim's had plenty of practice looking. Even more making sure to not-look.

Adam's eyes meet his as the glasses get picked up, and some of the shuttered wariness returns. That feels like a shame, somehow.

Jim regrets, again, giving him such a hard time at the start, even if there were reasons. He tries to look after his people, but... He's never exactly sure whether Adam wanted to be one of _his_ people. Adam seems to work less for any particular agency than himself, and the civilians who get screwed over when something blows up or there's yet another corporate buyout. He can respect that, but it's not chain of command. Tempers got frayed. Having his best agent accuse him of a coverup didn't help. And then there's the other thing.

He watches Adam cross the room and says, "There a reason you broke into my apartment?" 

Adam's shoulders tense, but he doesn't do anything dramatic like drop the glasses. He looks down at them, like once he might've. Or broken them, Jim doesn't know. Maybe that used to happen. "After everything, all the walls we kept running into, the way they always knew we were coming... I had to answer the question."

"So you sneaked into the NSN."

Adam tilts his head. A question by any other name.

"Someone'd moved my access card. It was a quarter of an inch, Adam. And the technicians might think I'm an idiot, but I can access the network logs if I have to."

Adam sits next to him, and the couch dips. Adam offers a glass, and there's the slight raise of an eyebrow when Jim takes it, rueful surprise written in his eyes. Jim can see why he covers them. "I'm sorry," Adam says, and it sounds like he means it. "I couldn't see any other way. I had a feeling you were clean, but I had to know."

Jim looks him steadily in the eye, and says, "I should probably have fired you by now. Or decked you, at the very least. But I owe you my life, and... it was sloppy enough that I half-wonder if you wanted me to know." Adam looks away at that, and Jim continues, "I know you had your reasons. Or believe me, I'd be making your life a misery right about now."

"Can't say I'd blame you for it," Adam mutters, and then he adds, "Uh... thanks." Still with that same wan amusement that makes Jim wonder if the man's ever smiled in his life. Or whether he's just that used to pissing off anyone who tries to order him around.

He takes a swig of scotch. "How much did you see, at my place? I'm guessing you went through anything with digital storage." 

Adam blinks, and the wariness on his face is a different kind, now. He ducks his head. "A few things. I know things have been... difficult, personally."

Jim waits, and when the silence settles... He doesn't mean to say it, or for the bitter snort that comes out. "That's it? You're not going to offer any opinions on what I'm doing wrong, or how I should get my head out of my arse and be a half-decent father? I'd say husband, but that one's sailed." He takes a heavy mouthful of whiskey.

Adam just shakes his head, eyes on his own whiskey, and then looks at him.

"Usually I can't get you to keep quiet about how I should do my job. Half the time, you're right."

"That's different." With that hint of dry humor, Adam says, "Then I'm just doing _my_ job."

Jim sighs. "I know."

"But if you're asking..."

Jim looks over, curious.

Adam swallows. "Your daughter. The surgery. Have either of you asked her what she wants? Take it from someone who's augmented."

For a second, he looks at Adam with new eyes. He's never let his personal life touch the work, never thought of it in those terms. He's told himself that the augmentation connection didn't affect anything. Mostly he's meant it, though watching Jensen work has made him see the... freedom. Just what the augs can do. She wouldn't be punching her way through walls or jumping chuteless out of birds, but the ease... "Your file said it was an emergency situation." At the way something in Adam's face shuts down, he knows. "You didn't choose it, did you?"

"Waking up and being 70% metal?" The bitter laughter is Adam's, now, and he says it while taking a drink of the scotch like he needs it. Then he looks at the glass and then says, softly, like it costs him, "Can't even get drunk anymore. Not without turning off half a dozen failsafes. Broke everything I touched for a while." His eyes are bright, and very green, when they meet Jim's. "It saved my life, though." 

"I'm glad it did." Jim doesn't know where the hell that came from. Or why it's so vehement.

Surprise crosses Adam's face, and then an actual smile, brief but meant, warm and real round the eyes. "I think... yeah, me too." Then his eyes return to the glass. "It's made a lot of things easier. It means I can do what I do. I just... wish someone had asked."

"Adam..." The word aches, even if Jim doesn't want to admit it. He's never been good at this stuff. Too busy burying it all himself, most of the time. There aren't many people he talks about this with, and too often it feels like asking them to relive all the shit they're trying to leave behind, but... he wants to say something, or to reach out. To do  _something_.

It's a gentle cutoff, but it's there. "Where are you going, after the Task Force?" Adam scratches his beard. "If it's not classified."

"I've got some mates in Brisbane I ought to see. And then... I don't know. I really don't know. Maybe try and contact my solicitor again." He takes a sip of whiskey, and enjoys the heat of it. It might be the only warm thing in Prague. That and Adam, who must be a foot away but who gives off a low, slight heat. Maybe the augs run hot.

"I hope it works out. It's like you said in London..." Adam tilts his glass towards Jim. "If the world's going to shit, it's worth trying to save what you can." It's said gently, without judgement.

"That's not quite what I said, but..." On some stupid instinct, Jim raises his glass. "To the world not going to shit. Not yet, anyway." He finishes his glass, puts it down on the coffee table, and sighs. Maybe the whiskey has made him brave enough. Dutch courage from Scotland. "Speaking of London... what exactly happened back there? I told you to save the antidote. I gave you a _direct order,_  Adam."

Jim thinks that the man sitting next to him on a couch, most of the way through a glass of scotch, asking him about his life, isn't the agent who stands in his office and nods at his orders. This is the truth that's only slipped through when Jensen's mopping up disaster zones and ends up in his office at stupid o' clock in the morning on no sleep, too tired or too busy to put up the front, more real around the edges. He likes this man, the glimpses of him he's seen. He'll miss him when it's all covered again and Jensen resorts to the usual yes-sir no-sir bollocks.

Adam puts his glass aside too. "Direct order would've killed you."

"And you would have done everything we'd - _I'd -_ asked of you. The world would have gone on. Losing one mid-level pencil-pusher wouldn't have ended anything. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'd rather be dead on a kitchen floor, but... You're Interpol, not some beat cop. You can't just disregard orders when it suits you."

Adam just looks levelly back. "I was SWAT. And bad orders were why I quit. I finished the mission."

"By the skin of your teeth! Adam, you can't just - "

"Was that what you wanted? For me to let you die?"

Jim swallows, and tries not to answer that properly. "I... No, but I'm not the point. It's not like anyone would have - " 

"Missed you?" Adam points towards the window. "There's two kids and a whole office in Cista that'd say otherwise. And you're damn good at your job. It wouldn't have been the same. _We_ wouldn't have been the same."

Jim stares at him.

"I've lost - Enough good people have died because someone higher-up wanted to play politics or make a few bucks. I wasn't going to let that happen to someone who actually gave a shit about what this world was coming to. There aren't enough people like you." 

Jim wants to be better, under those eyes. Adam's gaze is defiant, intense, and in the low light, there's a glint of something like gold underneath the green. Adam's too hotheaded and probably too young for him, but something special, all the same. He wants to say it's just the looks, that'd be easier to ignore, but... Adam had a life back in Detroit, before it all happened: friends, a girlfriend, people who cared about him. Suddenly it’s easy to see why. "There aren't many like you, either," Jim says, quietly. It's too honest, and it frightens him. He adds, "You're an insubordinate arse, but you're a good man. I should've known." 

"I was just thinking the same. Without the insubordination." Adam looks at him, consideringly. "You're one of the only people who doesn't act like the aug's going to kill them in their sleep. I've heard you arguing for me. I thought it was the job, or that you'd headhunted me, but... I'm not sure it's just the job anymore."

Jim's spine prickles. He suddenly realizes that again, he doesn't know where this is going. And that it might change things if he follows it. "I should go," he says, glancing at the empty glass and to where he's put his jacket aside.

"I... Jim." Adam's voice is even rougher than usual, and there's something in it that... can't be...

He looks back. He can't help himself.

There's fear in Adam's face, the sort Jim's never seen before a mission. But there's something else, too. The green of Adam's eyes is darker now, and he's close enough that Jim can hear him breathe, feel that distinct warmth. Adam licks his lips, and it's a quick, nervous thing, but Jim's eyes still follow it too closely.

He thinks he might know what changed after London. Or maybe it's just that he only started noticing it then.

Adam's gaze strays downwards, to Jim's mouth - he has bloody long eyelashes, even if nothing about a man who punches through walls and dismantles terrorist ops should be _pretty_  - and then Adam inhales. Leans in.

It's barely there, as a kiss. A tentative brush of lips, easy enough to write off as a mistake or a lapse in judgement. Then Adam draws back and just waits, one part curious to one part... afraid, though he's obviously trying to hide it.

There's a line. Jim should get up and walk out, say something,  _do_ something... He stays where he is. 

Adam looks at him with something that's not quite surprise, but close, and then moves forward again.

The second kiss is firmer, and Jim feels a smooth hand touch his face, steadying him. Or steadying them both, he doesn't know; there's the hint of a tremor to Adam's fingers. He didn't expect them to be warm, what with the metal, but... they are.

The biggest surprise is the gentleness. It shouldn’t be. He’s heard the man talk down frightened civilians in Golem City, and seen him quietly shell-shocked after Ruzicka. He remembers the pained look on Adam’s face in that damn kitchen, and the desperate relief when he’d taken the antidote.

Yet he's still surprised when he feels Adam's thumb rub over his cheek, and Adam shifts closer, slowly, without crowding or pressure. Adam touches him like it _matters_. Something about the hesitation and the consideration in it gets him. It's a question more than a kiss.

Jim touches something strong and solid under warm wool - Adam's arm, and before he knows quite what he's doing, he's taken hold of it to keep him there. Adam makes the smallest sound, startled and relieved and _yes_ , even if he hasn't said it. Jim thinks that's what tips things off the edge. He doesn't know exactly when he opens his mouth and responds - he only realizes with Adam's surprised inhale.

Adam tastes like whiskey. He kisses slowly but inexorably, like he needs to make the most of it and it might be snatched away from him at any moment - soft, simple, but with so _much_ in it. Like he's trying to feel everything. Jim suddenly wonders if it's been a while, and tries to make it good, tries to put enough into it. He realizes that God, he wants to feel it all, too.

This is bloody insane, but it almost makes sense. It doesn't _feel_ like madness - or not the bad kind - when Adam's hot mouth is under his and there's the scrape of beard. Been decades since he's done this with anyone with facial hair. It's another reminder of precisely _who_ he's with, and it shouldn't make him move closer, tilt Adam's head and deepen the kiss.

They separate with a gasp. The glint of augs catches his eye, and he looks down to see that his hand's slipped under Adam's sleeve, and it's still resting there, on a cybernetic forearm.

"Adam..." he manages. He moves his hand to Adam's shoulder, something companionable, about to say that the stress of the past few months has caught them all by surprise and that this isn't going to go on the record, it's an easy mistake, and he should go -

He drags Adam back and kisses him, instead. Adam goes with it, and if Jim had worried anything about this might be pity, it's long gone: Adam kisses him like it's an invitation, like it's a plea for more, or for everything _._ Christ. Adam actually  _wants_ him. He feels Adam ease him closer, with that same gentleness, hands barely there... and then Adam's breaking away, with an indrawn breath. Then there's the scratch of beard against his jaw, the softer touch of Adam's mouth.

This... He knows where this is going. Everything Adam's doing is _let me show you exactly where._  

He works his hand under that black turtleneck, and touches... warm skin, real skin. God, he'd forgotten. He hears Adam's sharp inhale, and he spreads his fingers, feeling wound-tight muscle jump.

"I should..." he starts, and can't finish the sentence. 

"Yeah." Adam halts, and waits there, meets his eyes. "Maybe."

He doesn't. Instead he pushes his hand upwards, pulling body-warm wool with it, and somewhere along the way his other hand joins it, until Adam sits back and lets him pull the jumper over his head and away. He touches Adam's chest, runs his hand over more of that pale skin.

Adam's... still, careful, like a coiled spring. His eyes are wide and dark as they watch Jim's hands, as he just lets himself be touched. He glances at Jim, looking caught-out, and takes a deep breath. Then he looks away, like it's all too much, and swallows. It's almost... shyness. Odd to see from a man who usually runs from formal and uptight to cocky bastard, with nothing in between. Jim has a feeling that if the hesitation before was tenderness, this one's all uncertainty.

He touches his hand to the scar tissue at Adam's shoulder, even though he's had enough scars himself to know Adam probably can't feel much. Trails his hand down Adam's arm before resting his hand in the small of Adam's back, urging him closer.

Adam blinks at him, and then shifts slowly nearer. Reaches out a hand. Jim has a second to wonder if Adam's... frozen up, if there's a reason the movement's so slow. Then Adam touches his face again, slowly, watching his reaction.

The augs. Adam thought the augs would bother him.

The thought's almost bloody absurd. He knows Adam, knows that control. He's seen Adam punch through walls and help civilians out of rubble and dismantle pieces of tech at that tiny, cluttered desk, hands strong but careful when they need to be.  They don't. They don't at all. 

It's obvious the moment Adam realizes: he glances to Jim's hand as it strays downwards to his abdomen, not even pausing, then looks up. There's something stricken in his eyes before he hides it. He looks like the knowledge has broken him and he doesn't know what to do with it. It's shut away fast, replaced by something almost hopeful... and then his eyes run over Jim with a hunger that has to hurt. He looks like he wants to find the nearest flat surface. Jesus.

Jim's voice is rough when he speaks, and it almost startles him. "We're doing this?"

"Not on the couch," Adam says, quietly but decisively.

Jim feels those smooth metal hands wrap around his, and he stands, lets himself be led. Adam moves with that same easy grace as on missions, some part augs to most parts being a man who memorizes rooms, who crosses them easily and silently. 

Adam pauses at the look on his face, and then - It's meant to be a brief kiss, something simple. So he doesn't know how Adam falters and ends up against the wall. Or how Adam gets through three layers of clothing so fast while kissing him like making it to the bed is less certain by the second. Maybe it's the bloody enhanced reflexes.

He realizes as he feels cool air against his skin, glances aside and sees his undershirt hit the floor, that they're going to end up leaving a trail of clothes through Adam's apartment. That... should bother him. But he's not sure much of anything can bother him when Adam pulls him closer, hands warming fast against his back, until they're skin to skin. It's been years since he's had this, maybe not since the first flush of his marriage - the desperate, grasping can't-keep-our-hands-off-each-other, the way Adam kisses him and presses up against him like it's less about  _want_ and more about  _need._ He's pretty sure that if Adam still had natural hands, they'd be white-knuckled. Instead it's gold that glints as Adam gets a grip.

At some point, he realizes that he's been grinding up against Adam, who's making a low, rough noise in his throat, hips equally restless. It feels like lightning up his spine. His tongue is in Adam's mouth and he's pretty sure Adam's hands have ended up on his arse and God, he's as bad. Fuck he's hard. He'd think he was going crazy,  _this_ is crazy, and it'd make sense if it was the CASIE, but this is all him...

Adam breaks away with a ragged exhale, and leans back against the wall, panting. He's knocked a few postcards askew. There's the hint of a flush on his face, beneath the pallor of his skin. He looks at Jim with eyes that are dark and a bit wild. It's a bloody good picture. 

Jim takes the opportunity to mouth at where the beard starts to turn to stubble, at the skin above Adam's collarbones. And then he feels Adam grab his belt, start unbuckling it, and pauses. "Bed," Jim reminds him. "You mentioned a bed." 

"Yeah, right, the bed," Adam says in a rush, like he'd forgotten. "Do we need the bed?"

"Not all of us have augmented spines." 

Adam laughs, quiet and rusty but... warm, all the same. Like it's been too long. Jim looks up at the sound, and what he sees takes the breath out of him.

Adam's smiling, easy and genuine, eyes crinkling with it, still with a bit of breathless laughter. Jim's seen muted, quick things or the flash of a jaded smirk, sometimes with the rise of an eyebrow from under the shields, but not... this. It looks good - softens the lines, makes Adam look gentler, almost like someone else. Like someone Jim could've just met in a bar or at some soiree, without their jobs at stake.  Jim didn't know what he had to miss. Christ, that's going to be a problem.

Jim can't help kissing him again at that.

When he pulls back, Adam looks at him, bright-eyed and surprised. And then draws him back in, and they end up in a half-conscious stumble towards what must be the bedroom. Stopping and looking would require taking his hands off Adam, and he's not sure he can stand to.

Their shoes get left somewhere by the bathroom - Jim can spare a braincell to be amused that of course, Adam doesn't bother with socks, he'd never put that one together before. Adam's trousers end up somewhere by the doorframe, two steps into the bedroom. Jim's get tossed next to the bed, and then there's a determined aug lying back and pulling him down, too.

They land with a bounce, and he catches himself. Adam just grins at him, white teeth against dark beard, before kissing him again. He didn't take Adam as the slow type - but then Adam breaks the kiss, looking downwards, and he feels the hand sliding down his chest, his stomach.

He pulls back and starts, "Look, I..." He's almost afraid that speaking will break the spell, snap them back to their senses. "It's been a while, for me. This might not be long."

Adam looks at him, with interest and no judgement - maybe a bit of thoughtfulness - and then says, "Same. And... same."

"So long as we're clear." Jim knows his voice is unsteady.

Adam reaches up and cups his face. Kisses him deep and filthy, until he feels drunk on it. And he'd thought the man was  _reserved._

He reaches down, glancing downwards, and finds Adam's boxers. "Jesus," he mutters, "is  _everything_ you wear black?" And overly tight. He might have to peel these things off, and that needs patience and forethought he's not sure he has right now.

He feels Adam's smug half-grin. "When I'm wearing them."

Jim freezes, swallows, and meets Adam's eyes. "Tell me you don't go commando in the office." Or in briefings. Christ, he's never going to be able to look him in the eye again.

"The office? No." Adam's mouth twitches as he considers it. "In the field..." At the look on Jim's face, he adds, "More practical. They not do that in TAG?"

 _Fuck._ "That's different," Jim says, and shoves them down. He manages not to rip them off, barely.

He feels Adam kick them away, smooth legs briefly tangling with his.

And then he stops, because he's finally caught his breath and looked, and he's not trying to stare. Adam's all lean muscle and glinting metal and shadows, hair falling into his face and his eyes faintly gold. Jim has a feeling he's going to see this behind his eyelids every time he tries to sleep. He catches the questioning look Adam gives him. He just reaches out and touches everything he can - gathering Adam closer and running his hands down Adam's flanks, skin and metal both, watching long lines and controlled strength. Fucking beautiful.

Adam gives a startled inhale and full-body shiver, hips bucking. Jim realizes a second too late that he said that aloud, albeit under his breath. He tries to put his embarrassment aside. "What?" he says gruffly, looking up, "Never heard that before?"

Adam's expression is a pretty clear  _no._ He opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. With a surprised thread of anger, Jim wonders who mindfucked him so thoroughly _._ Then Adam hides it all. With the hint of a smile, he says, "You're not so bad yourself."

He looks down at gray chest hair and a tired, scarred body, and snorts. "I'm flattered." But when he looks back to Adam, Adam's looking too. With far more interest, mouth a little open and eyes dark. And grabbing for his underwear.

Half of him's wondering how he's ever going to talk to Adam in the office again, even as he knows he'll manage it. The other half of him is... God, he wants this. He thinks it might kill him, but he wants it.

He's right, it isn't long. But it doesn't have to be. It's just... easy and complicated all at once, and he can't believe he was ever worried he'd forgotten how to do this. Not sure how he lived without it for so long, either. It's the only thing he's done in a long time that feels right, and it's so fucking  _good_ that he wants to laugh, or maybe cry. It feels like he should have spent his whole life here: with Adam panting something that Jim realizes is "please, please" under his breath like it's a fucking prayer; with a mouth that shouldn't be so soft and those gold-knuckled hands. It feels like every second he didn't was a waste.

He comes while kissing Adam desperately, and wonders why that feels too much like a confession. He's not surprised when Adam tenses, shudders and follows soon afterwards, face against his shoulder, with a low sound like it's either the best or worst thing that's ever happened to him.

Jim spends a second or twenty too long there, with Adam wrapped round him and panting. Then he rolls away, trying to breathe and reassemble his thoughts. When he looks to his side, the first thought that crosses his mind is that he wishes he was up for another round.

Adam looks like a man who's had a heavy weight lifted off his shoulders. His eyes are closed like he's still high on it all, and he's a flushed, blissed-out mess, still breathing heavily. His eyes blink open, still hazy.

"This was a bad idea," Jim says.  
  
"Yeah, probably," Adam replies, sounding utterly unperturbed. The overstyled hair is a black, spiky mess, there are marks on his throat and the last pieces of skin before the arm augs, and there’s black clothing strewn all over the floor. He's still lounging, contemplating the ceiling with the look of a man who'd usually be reaching for a cigarette right about now.   
  
Jim's caught him out the back of HQ sometimes, exhaling smoke and looking at the sky almost like he's trying to remind himself where he is and how the hell he got here. Jim knows the feeling. It was the one of the first things he noticed, but there were a lot of things he noticed about Adam. Trying to brush it off as keeping an eye on the new agent, or even as admitting that all right, Jensen wasn't exactly ugly, stopped working a while ago.   
  
"I'm your  _boss_ ," he tries.  
  
"For another eight days," Adam counters, with the kind of calm that almost makes that argument sound reasonable. He looks over with those bright, aug-green eyes. They should look unnatural, wrong, but instead they're just thoughtful and a little worried. Amused, too - it's dry, but it's likely been often there often enough under the shields. Those eyes say a lot. Too much, maybe. That's probably why he keeps them covered so often.  
  
Jim doesn't know how a quick debrief on why the hell Jensen would disobey direct orders to save him at the probable cost of the mission turned into one friendly drink, and then... this. He doesn't know why he's tangled in the sheets of his subordinate's stupidly big bed. He can't even say they were drunk. They didn't make it that far.  
  
He thinks it was the eyes that got him, in the end.   
  
He swallows. "You know I'm going home." And home’s Australia, not some bloody miserable Prague apartment he barely uses.  
  
"Yeah. And I'm thinking of heading back to Detroit for a while, looking into a few leads. You said I could use some leave."  
  
If Adam's going to tell him to piss off, Jim really wishes he'd get on with it. And put some clothes on. The alternative's bloody distracting.  
  
The augs still don't bother him. And that's a problem.   
  
Jim should be leaving, putting a stop to this. This was a mistake. It just doesn't feel like one when he's next to possibly the handsomest man he's ever been with, who's watching him like this is simple and the rest is a bridge to burn later. A man who pulls long hours and puts himself in front of every bloody danger to anyone else with no thought to his own life, with a stupid disregard for protocol and care for civilians. Who told him between the lines that he should visit the kids and do all he could, and apologized about breaking into his apartment. Who let him ask about the augmentations and talked about being butchered like it was a long time ago, with the quiet sadness that comes from grief, but didn't lash out at him. One of the finest men he's met. Somewhere under all the sarcasm, anyway.  _Save what you can._  
  
Jim says, "I meant it, Adam. Half the time I'm not sure you  _sleep._ "  
  
Adam's laugh is rough, and it'd be too human for talking to his boss - but that's not what this is. "I should say it's the augs."  
  
"They'd be a decent excuse. But you're just a freak of nature." He wonders after he said it if it was too harsh.  
  
Adam just smiles, easy and amused and… oddly soft, for a man who leaves a trail of knocked-out thugs half the time when he leaves a room. Jesus, that smile. Makes it easy to understand how someone could fall in love with him. "Yeah,” Adam says. “Guess I am." Then he leans over, and -   
  
The kiss is gentle, slow, and the hand that touches Jim’s face is so careful it's almost soft, even though it’s metal and polymers.   
  
He should pull away. He should make some excuse, or leave, end this -  
  
He doesn’t. Instead he kisses back and breathes in Adam’s slight surprised sound. He feels his way over a smooth shoulder and old scar tissue, touches Adam’s neck and brings him closer. For a few seconds, he lets himself have chapped but soft lips and the feel of a beard against his skin. Christ, it feels like it might be the first thing he’s had for himself in years. He'd forgotten how good it can be, someone touching you like they -  
  
He draws back and starts, “Adam?”  
  
“Jim.” It’s a low, wry drawl, said into the skin under his jaw. It shouldn’t sound so good.  
  
For the second time, he asks the question that started this whole fucking mess, but now his voice is quieter. “What happened in London?”  
  
Adam tenses and meets his eyes, wary. “I stopped Marchenko bombing a tower block, and saved the delegates. I stopped the Act.”  
  
“And you saved me. When I told you not to. Why?”  
  
Adam swallows, eyes darting around the room. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the bloody shields came back up, at this rate. “I… Jim.” He looks back up, and his eyes are wide and pained.  
  
Jim kisses him then, and it shouldn’t be  _I know why_  and  _I wish I could stay_ , but it is. God, it is.

Adam looks over to the windows. Beyond the blinds, the rain's still battering the other side of the glass. He says, too casually, "I could use a shower. And it sounds like it's pretty brutal out there. Wanna come with me?"

Jim looks into aug-green eyes. The sun's not up yet, and home is a long way away. While he can, he stays.


	2. Monday

Jim wakes up, and the rest is hazy. He has memories of hot skin and smooth metal under his fingertips, shifting and tensing. Adam gasping brokenly against his shoulder and then moving to grasp his face, hunting for his mouth. Adam kissing him desperately, all beard and teeth and ragged heat. His mouth on Adam's neck. The pale line of Adam's throat. Adam shuddering against him and kissing him again, with that same  _I think I'm dying_ desperation. As if he thought Jim was about to walk out of the door, but he hadn't, he couldn't... Savoring it all, heart pounding and his blood electric-bright in his veins. The haze of sweat and sex and sweetness, and all he could think of was -

Adam.

There's a hand on Jim's chest, black and shining dully in the morning light, fingers spread. It's somewhere over his heart. And he's warm for the first time in bloody  _months._ Since he came to Prague for the job, maybe. It's probably the aug curled around him, a lanky line of heat, like he needs _protecting_. He shifts to looks over his shoulder, because maybe he's still not sure it wasn't all a dream.

Adam's breathing steadily, eyelashes long, dark lines on his cheeks. Without the permanent frown and the shields, he looks... not younger, exactly - maybe that - but happier. Less scarred by it all.

Jim remembers his bloody stupid slip of the tongue last night.  _Beautiful._ Yeah. Maybe. Only one stupid thing of many.

He knows he should've left. He doesn't even have the darkness and a drink as an excuse. He should've drawn a line under this, he shouldn't have - 

Adam's breath hitches - he's probably felt Jim move - and he wakes up with the smallest of starts. He blinks, focuses, and the look on his face... like it's surprising Jim's stayed, but good. Really good. Then he glances downwards, looks like he's just realized what he's doing and he's about to scramble backwards in embarrassment.

Jim looks, too, and pauses. At some point his own fingers have come up to cover Adam's. Probably because his hands were cold. He makes to move himself, tensing.

Adam looks at him, eyes intent, with that warmth in them. The same kind that disarmed him in London and made his hands shake even when the poison was long out of his system. Like he was something worth wanting. Like this was - 

 

 

He wakes up. He's in his own bed. He feels freezing but he's hard enough to cut rock, and he has an old, hollow ache under his ribs. 

Yesterday. That was yesterday, and he can't - it can't happen again.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, and puts his face in his hands.

He climbs out of bed, shivering and aching, before he's tempted to stay there and get lost in his own head.

"Fucking  _idiot,"_ Jim says to himself, and then he moves, before he can't.

 

 

Jim's four days from retirement, and he's officially too old for this shit. "He  _what?_ "  
  
Mac's twitching, and visibly trying not to pace. "The mad bastard traded  _himself_  for the hostages. I swear, anyone'd think he wanted to get his brains blown out again. I don't care what's riveted into that titanium skull, even he has to have his limits."  
  
"I know he's alive, because I heard the shouting match downstairs. Did everyone get out?"  
  
"They did. Not that it was easy, because some bloody idiot had to go in with his dick swinging. He tries another fucking stunt like that and I'll kill him myself." Mac exhales, and then adds halfheartedly, "Sir."  
  
"Join the bloody queue. I knew I should have been out on this one." He might've talked Adam out of putting himself in front of a gun.  
  
"I respectfully disagree. You should be on a beach somewhere, not dealing with this clusterfuck. Even you might not have been able to pull him back. For the good of the team - "  
  
"I'm not going to fire him, Mac. He's stepped out of line once. He's not the kind to get in the way of a hostage negotiation unless he thinks there's no other way. He was police. He might talk a good game, but he knows how to shut up and fall into line."  
  
"Could've fooled me."  
  
"What happened afterwards?"  
  
Mac raises his eyebrows. "What usually happens. He went all weird hanzer and beat the shit out of them. We finished off the ones we couldn't bring in. There's footage, if you want to watch some metal tosser turning terrorists into a smear on the floor."  
  
"At least you got the hostages out. And we can question at least two of the perps. Thank God."  
  
"Yeah, we did. No thanks to Jensen. Please... just kill him for me. I've been loyal, I've done my service. It's just one favour and then you can be somewhere in the Bahamas - "  
  
"If someone finds him dead in an alley, you'll be the first one Interpol looks for."  
  
"Exactly. You're a better shot than me. And they wouldn't expect you."  
  
"I've thought about it, trust me." Jim says it with a dark, humourless laugh. "And in a week... well, he'll most likely be your problem." And Jim'll never see him again.  
  
"Oh, goodie," says Mac, in the tone of a man going to the gallows.  
  
"But... good work out there. I should've been there, but I'm glad this wasn't the monumental fuckup it could've been."  
  
Mac knows a dismissal when he hears it. "Should I send him in?"  
  
"No, I'll deal with him later. And get some sleep, you look dead on your feet. The reports can wait."  
  
Mac nods, and then Jim's alone in his office, exhaling.

 

  
  
He meant it; he doesn't want to see Adam right now. Maybe when he can put his irritation aside and be useful. He tables it, and finds the security footage while he's doing the paperwork. Brilliant. Sheets and sheets of trying to explain to his superiors what the hell Adam thought he was doing.  
  
He watches the three hostages, politicians on the pro-aug side - what's left of it, after the Incident - shivering and nodding as they're yelled at. Watches the team move in, steady and slow, and sees the moment when things go to shit. Guns get waved around, and then pressed against the politicians' heads.  
  
He watches Jensen walking towards them, hands raised and shining a little in the dim warehouse light, head bowed and shoulders curled inwards. As if Adam could look small or non-threatening.   
  
He reaches for the switch, listens to the audio of Jensen offering them a higher-value target, talking about how they can make an example of an aug who bows to them, something along those lines.   
  
Jensen has a way of making insane things sound sensible. He pretends otherwise, but even without the CASIE, Jim thinks the man could probably talk down a rock. Shame those social skills don't extend to the office most of the time. Even if they extend to him, and there's something about the way Adam can coax a confession out of you - _no._  
  
The politicians get handed over, and Adam keeps talking, even as one of the kidnappers presses the barrel of a gun to his forehead - Jesus. Even if Jim knows how this is going to end, he's only half keeping an eye on the others slowly advancing. Adam's too bloody  _calm._  Doesn't matter if he's trained for it. He looks like he's making some bloody quip -  
  
 - and then Adam's gone.   
  
Jim's usually too busy giving orders to see Adam in action. He'd almost forgotten.  
  
By the time Jim's brain catches up, Adam's behind one of the kidnappers and disarming the guy. He empties the gun as he goes without breaking a step. Grabs another of the kidnappers and decks her without losing track of her gun. Moves on. Keeps moving. Always moving.  
  
The others are running into the fray, and three more of the idiot pseudo-militia have sprinted into the room, but Jim's watching the whirl of glinting black.   
  
Adam moves like oil, like it's easy. He doesn't even touch the others, never gets in the way. Just quick arcs and efficiency. It's like a work of art. Almost inhuman.  
  
But Jim sees one of them pull out a knife. She catches Jensen on his arm, and... there's a nanosecond flinch, as if Adam's expecting pain. Like he forgot that all she'd get was metal and polymers. The blade scrapes against metal, leaving sparks. And she curses, looks like she's going to try and get the blade underneath plating - Adam's already got the blade and tosses it aside, and breaks her hand without even thinking about it. Her scream echoes off the walls. She pulls another blade seemingly out of nowhere, goes for him again -  
  
And Adam pauses, tenses. He's hurt. A half-second pause, and then he's stunning her.  
  
After she falls, he presses his hand to his face, briefly. Blood's not obvious on black, but Adam glances aside and there's red on his cheek.  
  
_Almost_  inhuman.  
  
He's gone before the moment can last, halfway across the room in a flash of bright lightning, a blurring arc of black as he moves.  
  
Jim's never been easily intimidated, but he can see why someone might be afraid. But he remembers the blood, the flinch.  
  
(And he knows how gentle those hands can be, when Adam's not on a battlefield. Slow and careful, and shaking, at first, without the aim stabilizer mods. Surer, later. He remembers pressing them to the sheets. Green eyes in the almost-dark, bright and intent, and rough laughter -  _No_ , dammit, no.)  
  
While the team's busy, another two of the terrorists emerge onto some kind of overseer's walkway. Adam doesn't even bother with the stairs, just jumps a full storey and hauls himself up.  
  
(Some kind of leg mod. Partly an impact distribution thing. He asked Adam afterwards, curiously running his hands over the metal at Adam's hips, and got a quiet, amused answer. He thinks it was his disbelief.  _I know I've seen it, but... a full floor? You can do that?  
  
Yeah._  Adam half-smiled.  _I can demonstrate, if you want.  
  
Maybe not_  right  _now._ )  
  
The fight lasts maybe three minutes. Adam takes down four of them in that time. In the end, the team take down five.  
  
Adam slings the two he knocked out over his shoulder and carries them down the stairs down to the main floor. He's barely got there before Mac's starting in on him.  
  
Jim goes back to the paperwork, half-listening to the swearing. He'll run it back later, but he needs to get the basics down. And excise half of Mac's language, probably.  
  
He looks up a few minutes later, when the yelling dies down.   
  
On the tape, Mac's in a corner, pacing. Adam's cuffing the unconscious perps, head partly bowed. The cut on his face is already healing. He's intent, hair dishevelled and cheekbones razor-sharp, shadowed in the dimness of the warehouse. Under the shields, his eyes are likely dark and thoughtful.  
  
And under the tacvest and layers, there's a bruise near his collarbone that will nearly have healed. Not from that night. Jim left it the morning after.  
  
_...Fuck._

 

 

He keeps pushing it aside, and it keeps coming back. It’s a headache just behind his eyes that never blossoms into a full-blown migraine, a tension in his shoulders, the itch of something not quite healing. The irritation, and the worry. Every time he thinks he’s tamped down on it, he remembers Adam bleeding. He remembers a gun barrel against Adam’s forehead, and the calm  _certainty..._  
  
He remembers how he couldn’t pretend it didn't matter.  
  
Most of all, he remembers the morning after he did something irreparably stupid. Drinking coffee at Adam’s kitchen counter – willingly drinking the sludge Adam kept around, and that alone should’ve said something – and just listening to Adam moving around the quiet apartment.  Saying,  _I should go,_ with too much reluctance. _  
  
Yeah._  Adam was quiet, thoughtful.  
  
He remembers shrugging on his jacket, hands shaking, and Adam leaning against the door to watch him leave.   
  
He remembers hesitating. Turning back, and kissing Adam like it was the last chance he’d get. Which it probably was. He remembers the heat of Adam’s mouth -   
  
\- and he remembers Adam baiting a man at the other end of a gun barrel, with those calm eyes and the utter lack of fear.  
  
Dammit.  
  
He’s still trying to ignore his own stupidity, leaning against his desk and checking the news reports on it all, when there’s a knock on his door. He knows who he doesn’t want it to be, but his luck has never been that good. He only made it three hours. At least most of the office has gone home, so they don’t have to be witness to this… clusterfuck.  
  
He shuts off the monitors. “Come in,” he says, and it’s more of a sigh, because he’s already half-certain.  
  
Sure enough, there’s a quiet sound of leather as Adam walks in and closes the door behind him. He’s wary, tired, and the shields are up. “Sir, I can explain.”  
  
"You’d better. Jesus  _Christ_ , Adam!"  
  
Adam doesn't flinch, or grimace, just watches him steadily, expressionless behind the shades. That makes it worse, somehow.  
  
"Do you know why I wanted you for this team?"  
  
A raised eyebrow. "The augs?"  
  
"No, not just the bloody augs! I was told you were reliable. Steady. That you were a team player."  
  
Adam stays still, silent.  
  
"You can't just throw yourself at risks like it doesn't matter! Fucking hell, are you  _suicidal?"_  
  
"No, sir." Adam's voice is quiet, steady, and Jim can hear the real answer too clearly:  _Not anymore._  He wishes he didn't know Adam well enough to hear it. "They were gonna try for Aria. I figured I could take a bullet in the head better than she could. Done it once already."  
  
_"Once too many."_  
  
"Our job's to be in the line of fire, sir. We do it so they don't have to."  
  
Jim barks a bitter laugh. "Protect and serve, that it?"  
  
Jensen doesn't budge. "Yeah. Pretty much."  
  
"Not that I don't get the mindset, but you're a high-priority asset, not cannon-fodder. There were other ways of dealing with this. You could've called for backup, or at the very least - "  
  
"Yeah, by which time three of the main pro-aug campaigners in Europe would've been dead."  
  
"Not necessarily. We take  _informed risks,_  Jensen." He sighs, and rubs at his forehead. "Next time this isn't going to be me. It's going to be Mac, or whoever else the higher-ups decide to put in this office. They might not let you walk out with your job."  
  
Jensen swallows. "I know."  
  
"I could chew you out, but this day's been too long as it is. I know you were trying to do the right thing, I know it was civilians, I just... Don't do that again." He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales.  
  
"That all, sir?"  
  
"That's all, Jensen."   
  
Adam nods and starts toward the door, shoulders still tense. Pauses, and the coat swirls, catches up a second later as he turns. His voice is softer now, more uncertain, and there’s something more human in his posture. "You all right?"  
  
"I'm fine." Jim says it into his hand. "Just realizing that this job is like herding cats. And it doesn't help when you nearly get yourself killed."  
  
There's a pause, and then the whisper of leather and canvas.  
  
Jim looks up, into eyes that are bright green and concerned.  
  
Adam says quietly, "I didn't mean to play it so tight. I didn't see another way."  
  
"I know. We sign up for it in this job. It's not you. Or, it's not..." The silence stretches, and he can't meet Adam's eyes anymore. "Fuck."  
  
"It's not the job," Adam finishes, something like realization in his voice. He tilts his head. His voice is soft when he says, "We ever going to talk about it?"  
  
"Jensen..." Jim tries, and then shakes his head. He's never been one to hide behind rank, and he'd hate himself for it. He sighs. "Adam. Talk about what? You should be in the infirmary."  
  
Adam doesn't back down, just takes a step forward, gaze steady. He's warm, and close enough that Jim can see the cut near his temple, barely swollen and already healing due to whatever systems he has. "When you came back to my place."  
  
When they barely made it to the bed. Afterwards, when Adam pinned his hips against the bathroom tile and sucked him off like a man who’d just discovered religion. When he didn’t leave. When he fell asleep still seeking the heat of the drowsy man next to him, feeling warm metal fingers against his arm. When Adam looked at it him like it might mean something. There were a lot of whens.   
  
He tries to say something that won’t get them both in trouble. "I... We shouldn't be even be having this conversation."  
  
"I've been told I'm bad at dealing. That I bottle things up until they get out of control." Another step forward, and Adam catches his eye. "One of the people who told me that was you. Kind of hypocritical, don't you think?"  
  
"'Out of control' _has already happened_. I told you it was a bad idea. There's a reason I don't mix this stuff, Adam."  
  
"I know, but I thought maybe..." Adam looks away. "Maybe something."  
  
"If you wanted a quick fuck, you could've just chosen someone else. Someone who wasn't your boss. Someone who wasn't  _me._ "  
  
Adam's shoulders tense. He just tilts his head, face unreadable. Usually everything's in his eyes, but Jim can't - he can't see anything in them. It's like Adam's shut down. "That's what it was?"  
  
"I thought you - Adam - "  
  
Adam nods. "Glad you got it out of your system." He says, to a point somewhere next to Jim's left ear, "You're right. I should head to the infirmary."  
  
"I didn't mean it like that."  
  
"That all, sir?" Adam's already stepping back stiffly, ready to leave.  
  
"Adam - Jesus, don't - "   
  
Jim takes Adam's arm. He'd say he's crossing a line, but that one's already been crossed, days ago. Adam freezes.   
  
Jim says, "I told you it was a bad idea. I can do my job, but my job means I have to watch you go and get yourself killed. Or try to. You went out of your way to put yourself in the line of fire. Forgive me if that’s got me in a bad mood."  
  
"We're expendable."  
  
"Not to me. Not if there's another way."  
  
"From the guy who was going to bleed out on a kitchen floor."  
  
"That was different."  
  
" _So was I._  You send me in because I can take more punishment." Adam taps two metal fingers to his temple, and then raises his hand. "I can take out a wall with these. I'm not like them. Or you. I'm not - "  
  
Jim's hand wraps around that black augmented wrist, and Adam freezes. "You're  _human_. Doesn’t matter what you think." He slowly lowers Adam's hand, and Adam blinks, mouth opening, that bright brokenness in his eyes again before it’s hidden. "Or you pretend," Jim says, pointedly.  
  
Adam swallows. "You should know," Adam says, eyes raising to meet his.  
  
He remembers Adam sprawled naked and laughing, like a man who'd been given a present and didn't know what to do with it. Like it was easy.  
  
It should feel like that was a mistake. He shouldn’t be so glad he got to see it, even if just for a night.  
  
"Yeah." Jim takes a step forward, easing Adam's hand back to his side. "Yeah, I should."   
  
Adam watches him, dark-eyed and still.  
  
Jim lets go of Adam's hand, slides his fingers past the trenchcoat and touches Adam's hip, feeling metal and warm skin beneath the undershirt. He feels Adam's sharp inhale, too. He says, quietly, "Don't get yourself killed." He looks back to the door. Shut, and the EGO glass system's still on by default.  
  
"This a debrief?" Adam says, in a voice like gravel that Jim’s surprised to hear wavering a little. Adam sways forward just slightly. Probably doesn't even know he's doing it.   
  
Jim doesn't answer. Not with words, anyway.  
  
Adam’s mouth opens under his, and Adam sinks into the kiss with a half-sigh, like it’s a relief.  
  
It still doesn't feel like a mistake.

Adam pulls back and says, "I'm guessing there're no cameras in here."

Jim sighs. "I've done sweeps before. No guarantees, but... unlikely."

Adam glances around the room, and something in his expression is distant. Probably accessing some kind of system. "I'm not seeing any."

"This an aug thing?"

Adam looks back to him. "Maybe. I'm... not most augs. I think Sarif invested in some extra upgrades." There's a pause, and then Adam says, "What?"

Jim shakes his head. 

Adam presses, "Looked like you'd got something on your mind there."

Jim says, to the ceiling, "You're a man, not a new car."

That surprise flits across Adam's face again, and then he says, with a false-casual headtilt, "I did ask him for go-faster stripes, but..."

"Adam. You're not a  _tank._ Those...  _upgrades_ didn't make you bulletproof."

"Depends on whether the TITAN's active."

" _Adam._ Christ, listen to me, you can't just throw yourself at danger like it's - like you're an acceptable loss, or there's no-one who'd care if - " He sucks in a breath, and turns his head to look at the wall so he won't say something stupid, kicking himself when Adam's silent.

And then there are augmented fingers under his chin, and  -

There's a knock at the door.

They wrench apart, and Adam's across the office in a blink, turning to the NSN room.

Jim calls, "Come in." To his credit, it's decently steady. He doesn't sound much like he's just been groping his best agent.

Chang pokes his head round the door, and then edges in with the usual nervous, twitchy energy. "Sir - oh, hey, Jensen."

Adam looks over his shoulder and nods, shields firmly back in place. Jim misses Adam's face - Adam's  _real_ face - already. 

"Sir, it's about the most recent mission." Chang looks back to the pocket secretary in one hand, then raises a few sheets of paper in the other. "I've got the userlogs for the security system. Nothing new about who they were, but we're definitely right about how they got in."

"Right." He really, really hopes that Chang's usual social obliviousness applies here. "Thanks. Just leave them on the desk."

"Sure, sir. And Jensen... nice work out there. I saw the cam footage."

Adam says, with a hint of surprise, "Thanks." 

Chang backs out and shuts the door, already tapping at the pocket secretary and probably neck-deep in code. The office gets plunged back into quiet, the noise from outside faint.

Jim says, "Christ, that was close. And  _stupid._ This... this has to stop."

Adam turns, arms crossed and face impassive. God, Jim wishes he'd take down the shades. "In the office, or anywhere?"

Jim swallows, running a hand through his hair. There's no good answer to that question. "I... Adam. You should go home. Get some sleep."

Adam's silent, and then his eyebrows raise, and he says, "Kind of a turnaround."

"Call me a bloody hypocrite if you want, but I've seen that fight, and even you can't sleepwalk your way much further."

"You're a hypocrite." Adam's voice is flat.

Jim snorts. "True. But you need _sleep_."

"Not as much as most people." Adam shrugs, and mutters, "Probably won't happen, anyway. I can finish up..."

Jim doesn't ask about nightmares. If there's anyone who probably ought to have them, it's Adam. " _Try._ There's nothing to do but file paperwork and wait for findings. It'll be hell in the morning, but take the time while you can. Even I'm heading out soon." He tells himself he's just mentioned that to change the subject.

That silent, assessing headtilt again. Then Adam nods, and there's a finality to it. 

His shoulders are tense, but he walks out of Jim's office almost silently except for the  _click_ of the closing door. Jim can't even blame the stealth augs for that one.

 

 

 

He lasts maybe two more hours before he shrugs on his coat and shuts it all down, pocketing security keys and issuing the last voice commands. He rolls his shoulders, trying to get rid of a day's worth of tension and slow-building pain, and then shuts the door of the dark office behind him.  
  
He answers the occasional goodbye as he heads out, but keeps his pace up.   
  
It isn't long before he's standing outside the shop they're using as a front, closing his eyes and exhaling in the night air. He has a choice here. There's an itch at the back of his neck, and the tips of his fingers are tingling, like the edge of a sense-memory.  
  
He should make some excuse, but he knows exactly what he's doing. It's barely a decision. He isn't even surprised when he walks past an old, battered couch and knocks on a door with flaking paint and too many perfectly up-to-date security systems.  
  
A few seconds, and then the door opens and Adam's standing there with an arm against the door, wearing a faded old T-shirt. Black, of course - or it was once. It looks gray against the dark sheen of Adam's arms, and... Adam's probably had the shirt longer than the augs. It's a weird thought.   
  
The eyeshields are down, but the assessing wariness is still in Adam's eyes. He looks at Jim -  _really_  looks. Jim sees the moment caution's replaced by curiosity, and then something like knowing relief. Adam steps back, leaving the door open.  
  
Jim takes the invitation, stepping inside -  
  
\- and Adam's mouth is on his, and he's not entirely sure he can think, let alone speak.  
  
It's not the gentle thing of before. Adam kisses him like a man clinging to something, hot and deep and painfully fucking earnest _._ It's relief and a plea, until he's pulling Adam closer, fingers clenching in that old shirt and probably destroying it even more. His head aches and his legs ache and he doesn't bloody  _care._ It's a good reminder that they're both alive, despite the fact that all considered, they really shouldn't be. He feels Adam's hands settle on his face, his shoulders, still uncertain, still with that damned... tenderness. It's tenderness. Maybe that's stupid to say when he's seen these hands break walls and bend metal, but that doesn't make it any less true.  
  
Adam drags himself away.  "Sorry." He stares at Jim for a second, the two of them panting in the silence.  
  
Then Adam's kissing him again, like even the idea of stopping was madness. He feels Adam's hands clench in his jacket, all the remoteness and silent control gone. This - this, he remembers this from last time. Like this, Adam's a force of nature. He breathes it all in and pulls Adam forward, hands sliding over hot skin and slipping under Adam's waistband, and Adam makes a low, approving sound -  
  
"Door," Jim manages, and throws out a hand to close it.  
  
Adam manages to rush out the lock commands before his mouth's occupied again.

 

 

Jim wakes to the sound of rain, morning light coming through the blinds... This isn't his place. Or his bed.

He looks around, blinking. He recognizes darkwood, and plenty of black. Somehow he wasn't surprised to find all that, the last time he came here. He'd have said something about Adam living in a cave, but he was busy at the time.

He reaches out, and next to him, the bed's empty. Still warm, though. From the next room, he hears rustling, and a low, metallic tapping on the floorboards that's... familiar. It takes a few seconds for him to realize: Adam's footsteps. He guesses Adam's not wearing shoes.

That's confirmed when Adam walks in, bedheaded, shirtless and with a mug in one hand. Adam sits on the edge of the bed, a good foot away, with that uncertainty back in his eyes, that distance still there. Always the distance. Jim hasn't missed it. Adam takes a mouthful of coffee, and says quietly, "So, uh. I figured last time was a one-off."

Jim frowns, half-awake, and rubs at his eyes. It's too early for this shit. "It could be. If you want, we can say none of this ever happened." He can hide the beard-burn, at least. They were careful on that one.

Adam frowns. "It's not about what I want. It's about what's..." He falters, seems to search for the word, and then says, helplessly, "... _sane."_

Jim laughs, sandpaper-rough and resigned, and sits up. "Yeah, because if it's just twice, we'll be able to stay professional. Or have you forgotten what Chang nearly walked into? We're long past  _sane._ "

Adam runs a hand through his hair, and it ends up in a thousand directions. He raises a brow, conceding Jim's point, and takes another drink of coffee. "Last time I was with someone in the office, it didn't go so well." He cocks his head. "Well, we weren't together. It was... complicated." He looks down, and drums his fingers on the mug.

Jim listens for a second to the quiet, bright  _ting-_ ing, rather than the duller sounds flesh fingertips would make. He suddenly wonders if this is what it'd be like, waking up in the mornings with him: quiet, and half-darkness, and the little metallic sounds that even Adam can't quite silence. Or doesn't need to, when he's home and letting himself be human. Shoelessness and nervous fidgeting and the truly impressive bedhead. It's... Fuck. It's not an unappealing thought, at all. Which means Jim needs to stop thinking it.

Jim says, "Last time I checked, I wasn't trying to steal your DNA." 

Adam looks up, eyebrows rising and eyes a little wide.

"Sorry. We had to approve a few things, make some background checks. Sarif mentioned it. I got something about scientific ethics and... that was the word he used, too. 'Complicated.'"

"Yeah. That... it's gone." Adam ducks his head, scratches at his beard. "Towards the end... I think she only saw her mistakes." He meets Jim's eye briefly, looking for understanding that he knows he'll find, then back to the wall. "Then the augs - I wasn't... me anymore. More like a... fulfilled hypothesis. A collection of results." He goes back to the coffee. "It's been a couple years. She's in Hong Kong."

"I don't know if that's better or worse than Australia." Jim sighs.

Adam's mouth twitches, then he fixes Jim with a curious look. "What else did they give you?"

"Nothing else personal. Your old boss gave you a character reference - practically sounded like he'd wanted to adopt you - but other than that, it was all just... events. Outcomes. Career history." Jim sighs. "It helped make my mind up."

Adam raises an eyebrow.

"Everyone said it was suicide hiring an aug."

"So why did you?"

"Mexicantown." He sees Adam frown, and then continues, "The hostage situation at Sarif's plant. All the other times you were told to prioritize tech, or money, or _orders_ over people and didn't. I hired you because you were efficient, and because I had no other agent like you, but... we needed a good man, not another politician. The same reason I pulled for Mac. He's good at what he does. He'd tell the entire UN to fuck themselves if he thought it'd save someone." He laughs when Adam grimaces slightly at the comparison. "Other than that, you're pretty different."

"Didn't think you'd screwed Mac," Adam mutters, into a drink of coffee. 

Jim snorts, and then falls silent, thoughtful. When Adam looks up, he says, "You know, when you first came here, talking to you was like trying to get blood out of a stone."

Adam says, with the hint of a resigned sigh, "Team probably told you I was a robot."

"Yeah, well. They say the same about me." He swallows. "I... couldn't always read you. But I knew there was a sense of humor in there somewhere. Well-buried."

Adam makes a skeptical noise, and drinks.

Jim sighs. "You know... Hard as you're trying, I think they're starting to like you. Aria's planning something for when I go. I caught her talking to Smiley about inviting you along." He reaches over, and when Adam doesn't stop him, he touches one of the ports for the shields. He lets his thumb drag until he's touching skin again, briefly brushing Adam's temple. "Have you ever considered talking to people without these, sometimes?" He takes his hand away, having made his point.

Adam blinks and swallows, lashes fluttering, something like a pained frown crossing his face. "Not for a long time. Not when it's... work."

"Maybe you should. And I don't count. I was dying _._ " Jim pauses, and adds, drily, "And no, I haven't screwed Mac. Other than the fact it'd be like fucking a porcupine... I don't get involved with people under my command. It's too much of a bloody mess. Can't usually say I want to."

"'Usually'?" Adam raises a brow.

"Usually I'm not working with idiots who think my orders are optional. Hell, it's not like this could make you  _more_ insubordinate." He sighs. "And we wouldn't  _be_ in the office. We wouldn't be anywhere. After I resign..." He rubs at his forehead, and leaves off the end of that sentence. They both know where it's going.

Adam looks down at the mug, then leans to put it aside on the bedside table. "How long do you think you've got?" Adam's voice is oddly gentle, considering it usually sounds like a gravel drive.

"Once I leave... two weeks, or something like it. There's some packing and paperwork. Sort out property stuff. I don't know." Jim realizes at some point he's started talking to the wall, because it's easier than looking at what he's walking away from.

"There's a lot you can do in two weeks." Adam's voice is thoughtful, with that gentleness to it again. Feels like an invitation.

Jim looks back to him, throat dry.

At some point, Adam's shifted a lot closer - must be the bloody stealth - and even with Adam's careful control, Jim can recognize a sidelong look. One with hope in it, mostly-hidden but breaking through all the same.

Jim feels himself grin stupidly, something that might be relief making his chest ache. "Yeah." He touches Adam's face, cupping Adam's jaw, his palm on warm skin and dark beard. He feels Adam smile, even as he sees it - slow until it's sudden and bright, like the sun through blinds. Jim says, "Yeah, there is."


End file.
